Brave New World
by Ashley A
Summary: the world has moved on, can a former vampire move on with it? Future fic, post Shanshu. Finished!
1. Default Chapter

A/n:  future fic.  Post shanshu.  All good things must come to an end, the world moves on.  Can a former vampire move on with it?

Feedback:  yes please.

Disclaimer:  Angel/Buffy TVS belong to Joss Whedon and co.  I just play here.

            He walks along the busy street, sun streaming down in the early morning crowd.  As he passes a diner, the door opens and a couple comes out, laughing and talking.  The smell of coffee hits him in a wave, and suddenly his mouth is watering.

            Several orders of bacon and biscuits later, he relaxes in his booth, slowly sipping the coffee that had drawn him in in the first place.  An unexpected belch escapes him, and he claps his hand over his mouth in surprise.  The teenage girls in the booth across from him give him a 'look', then giggle to each other.  He smiles in return; human actions and digestion are still relatively new to him.

            Fairfax avenue is busy this morning.  Cars and mororcycles jockey for position, while pedestrians and skaters move quickly by on the sidewalks.  The man stares contentedly out the window, his now full stomach gurgling happily.

            He knows he has an errand to run.  But it's one he's not looking forward to.  So sitting in the diner contemplating his non hungry state is a welcome form of procrastination.

            A few more minutes of zen like zoning, and he finally gets up, sighing.  Slipping a twenty onto the table, he stands, and heads for the door.

            Hitting the street again, he resolutely heads in the direction of the nearest train station, _above ground trains in the city, still so odd, _he thinks, and upon arrival, recalls the instructions he had read on the net about the train stations.

            _Put the money in the slot, get the little ticket out, and procede with caution, _ he remembers, and does just that.

            Entering the station proper, he scans the train signs briefly before finding the one he wants.

            TRACK 29, LINE B.  ALL TRAINS NORTH, MONTEREY, SANTA BARBARA, SUNNYDALE, SACRAMENTO.

            Sunnydale.  Yep.  That's where he's going.  No turning back now.

            A half hour later and he's seated on the right train.  A light and compact thing, it glides along slowly before revving up to final speed after exiting the station.  He watches downtown Los Angeles glide by, and randomly leans his head against the window, lulled to a light sleep by the sound of the train on its single track.

            A dream overtakes him.  Visions of a house, two sisters, and their friends.  An older man, with glasses, lectures him on the importance of behavior, before turning and walking away quickly.  The older of the two sisters winks at him from the staircase, and crooks a finger seductively at him before walking the rest of the way up.  The younger girl taps him on the shoulder and whispers, "she's always loved you, you know, Angel.  She always will," then vaporizes in a puff of ash before his very eyes.

            He jerks awake, wiping the sleep drool off his chin with a furtive gesture.  A recorded announcement jarrs over the loudspeaker into his compartment.  NEXT STOP, SANTA BARBARA.  REPEAT SANTA BARBARA.  LINE B CONTINUING ON TO POINTS NORTH, INCLUDING SUNNYDALE, SACRAMENTO, AND THE BAY AREA.

             He relaxes a bit, knowing he has enough time before arriving at his destination.  The town had been rebuilt about 25 years after the original destruction; something about what prime real estate it was, and how it shouldn't go to waste.  He thinks it has a lot more to do with the draw of the hellmouth.  But governments being what they are, it had taken quite a while to get all the permits in place before groundbreakin had even begun.

            They may have been able to close the seal, but the seat of power hadn't ever really gone away. It had just manifested itself in other forms.  Life in Los Angeles had been proof of that.

            They had gotten their very own portal to hell.  Not so much of a mouth; more of a 'giant sucking miasma of death' as Gunn had called it.

            They battled the denizens of hell that had come out of it for years after.  Even after Cordy finally lost her battle with the coma, even after Wesley and Fred had given their lives to the thing, he fought.  And fought.  Finally it was just him and an older, wiser Gunn who managed to take care of business.  Gunn had had a lot more power than he gave himself credit for.  And he had used the last of it to help Angel Investigations close the portal in Los Angeles.  If Angel himself had known what the backlash would be from them closing the gate, he's still not sure if he would have done it or not.

            Now, he's headed once again north, up the coast to a little rebuilt town and loads of buried memories.

            The train procedes north finally after a 30 minute stop in Santa Barbara.  One can see the ocean shining like a pearl in the distance from the station, although Angel doesn't step off the train during the layover.  He rests his forehead against the plexiglass window, marveling again at the changes that have come over California in the recent years.  No more polution.  No more violence.  Well, except for some of the demon kind.  But not much anymore.  Trains everywhere.  People friendly again.  It's almost a little like the Twillight Zone.  But he's okay with it.  It's a really nice change.  Which makes what he has to do even harder.

            Now that magick and magick users are out in the open, so to speak, the world, as they say, has moved on.  Moved on rather quickly, in fact.  Angel is hesitant to put his faith fully in the new changes and new ideas.  He remembers all too well the last time someone tried to permenantly alter the behavior and ideals of the human race, and how in the end, he and his friends had payed for it.  If not with their lives, than with just a little bit of their sanity and peace of mind.

Lost in his own thoughts, he barely hears the announcement system again.  NEXT STOP, SUNNYDALE.  LINE B CONTINUING TO SACRAMENTO AND THE BAY AREA.  REPEAT, NEXT STOP SUNNYDALE.

Clutching his small overnight bag in his hand, he slowly walks down the steps to the station proper, as his train begins its final run to the north behind him.

Pushing through the revolving doors, he can't help but stop and gape at the center of town.  

There's the Sun Cinema, there's the Espresso Pump, and there's the same main street as before.  Oh, the names of most of the stores have changed, but to him it's like traveling back in time to a part of his consciousness he never thought to visit again.

Granted, he's never seen it in the daytime before, so he has a right to be a little dazzled.  Oh, if only…

His chest suddenly hurts, and he puts a hand to it, as if to calm it.  His back begins to twinge as well, and he realizes he's having what the humans _you're one now too _might refer to as a panic attack.  He spies a bench on the corner, and heads for it, knowing he just needs to rest for a minute and he'll have everything under control.

A plack bolted into the sidewalk in front of him catches his eye, and he reads it, emotions churning all the while.

_Sunnydale, California.  Rededicated March 4, 2028.  To our forefathers we contribute our success; to our forefathers we dedicate this replica of the original town we never knew._

_Mayor David Wilkins, presiding._

He shudders slightly at the last sentence.  Wilkins.  He hopes it's a coincidence.

He notices that the pain in his chest and back are gone, so he stands again, and heads toward the neighborhoods to the north of the downtown area.  Not sure if it will still be there, but with all the other replicating, he's pretty sure the houses will be the same.

Revello drive stands in silent watch as an old friend comes walking up its lane.  1640, 1636, 1632, ah, 1630.  

By the gods it is actually the exact same house.  His bag hits the ground unheeded, and he hunkers down in the street, not caring if anyone sees him.  

The ring he kept for all those years still resides on a silver chain around his neck.  Loathe to give it up, he had kept it hidden from his friends, not wanting them to chastise him or to tell him to 'move on, man.  She's got to have as well.'

_Sometimes I do think that far ahead._

_Buffy, you done baking yet?_

Had he ever actually had the balls to ask her that?  Only in his dreams, he thinks.  The years had gone by, they had talked upon occasion, or when things happened she felt he needed to know about.  

Like when Willow hadn't made it out of the brief riot in Cleveland when the magick users were first coming into play.  How Giles had gone back to England, and how she had gradually lost touch with him over the years.  How Dawn had finally married some nice man, and had settled down in Seattle.  How the law had finally caught up with Faith, although he had known about that one himself, and had sent her back to prison in Stockton.  Neither of them had been allowed to speak with her.

The most recent call he had gotten had been the one he had not been expecting.  Oh, somehow he had known when it happened, but had tried to deny it to his heart and soul.  And it had only happened about a week after his gift had been bestowed, so had he called her when he had been planning to, it might not have been too late.

But as fate so often has a way of doing, something had made him hold back, had made him not call her right after it had happened.

_Best just to wait a while, see if this mortal thing takes._

It had been Xander's voice on the phone that had shocked him so badly the minute afer he answered the insistant ringing.

"Angel.  Can you come up?  We'd like to see you."

"Xander?  Is that you?"

"…the service is Wednesday afternoon.  Can you come?"

Oh God.  Sweat had beaded out on his forehead, and naseau had slipped into his stomache like he had stuffed himself on sweets.

"Uh…God.  Yes, I'll be there."

He had hung up with no further niceties, and had sat silently on the edge of his office desk, head buzzing with the few simple words.

Can you come?  Service is Wednesday… 

_When I look into the future, all I see is you.  All I want is you._

_You still my girl?_

_I'm not gonna say goodbye.  There's too much…_

The last words they had had were, "talk to you soon."

His face had twisted into a bitter frown, desperately wishing that he could talk to her.  Soon.  Anytime.  

Squatting in the middle of the road, Angel squeezes his eyes shut, and clasps the ring hanging around his neck ever so gently in his hand.  

He hears the front door of her house, **_the_**_ house, _open,  and a voice changed a little with age say, "Soulboy?  Come on in before you get run over."

Tbc…


	2. two

A/N:  all lines quoted from "Forever" are property of their writer.

Sorry this chapter is a little short, but I have big plans for the later ones.  Bear with me.  It gets better, I promise!

Please feed me.

          Wednesday dawns bright and early.  The door behind him creaks open, and Xander's head pops out.

            "Hey.  Want some breakfast?"

            Angel's stomach rumbles traitorously, but he shakes his head.  "No,thanks."

            Instead of the door shutting as he had expected, Xander steps out to the porch, joining him on the swing that is the exact replica of the one Buffy's mother had installed so many years ago.  

            Hanging his head, Angel sighs softly.  "Xander.  What do you want?"

            A laugh escapes Xander as he replies, "Nice way to greet me, buddy.  You wanna add a neck chomp with that, too?  Oh, that's right.  You're among the living now.  No more bitey bitey, yum, dinner?  How long has this been in effect?  And why didn't you tell her?"

            Angel jerks his head around at the harsh tone.  Before he can stop himself, his hand shoots out and grasps Xander by the shirt collar.

            "That. Is. Not. Your. Concern."  He breathes hollowly into Xander's face, their eyes an inch apart.  

            "Jesus, relax, Angel," Xander tells him, pushing the restraining hand off.  

A lifetime ago, Angel might have not have let him.  A lifetime ago, Angel might not have stopped at all.

            "It's just that, no word from you for years.  Oh, maybe a phone call now and then, but to suddenly find out you're human?  Only a few days after…"  he stops talking, his voice cracking again.  It's been cracking a lot in the past few days.

            Angel raises his hand again, rubs his temples.  "I can't give you an excuse.  In fact, I don't think I should have to.  You know how I felt…feel… about her.  We just lost touch…it happens.  It was her choice too, you know."

            The two men sit in silence and watch as the sun breaks from behind a bank of low morning clouds.  Xander watches as the older man at first flinches, then basks in the early morning glow.  Closes his eyes.  His face taking on the reddish tinge of the rising orb.  Xander can only gape at the human sitting next to him.  Only slightly freaked out at the difference.

            "Are you gonna tell me how?"  Xander finally breaks into Angel's reverie.  His only answer is the slight nod from the other man.  

            "Soon."

            The afternoon is a waking nightmare for Angel.  Not having had the joy of experiencing too many funerals, except of course for his own family's, he is numb through the whole thing.  Follows the script in the bible handed to him by Xander.  Places a handful of dirt on the coffin with the rest of the mourners before it's lowered into the ground.  Forever this time.  He knows it.

            Gradually, one by one the mourners leave, pressing their hands into Xander's and Buffy's sister's, Dawn, who had shown up with her husband, having almost missed their train from San Fransisco.

            They mostly avoided the tall, brown haired man by Dawn's side, eyes so dark they looked like twin bruises in a ghost pale face.

            Finally it's just Dawn, Xander, and Angel left.  The sky has begun to purple, the glorious So Cal sun making it's trek into the horizon once again.

            Dawn takes Angel's hand in hers, and turns him to face her.  He smiles his crooked smile at her, and she can't decide whether to smile with him or burst into tears.

            So she does both.

            As tears leak down her cheeks, she places her palm on his cheek.  He shudders slightly, and tries to keep his own tears away, but just can't manage it anymore.

            "Angel.  I…God, it's so good to see you.  We've really missed you.  She always missed you.  No matter what she told you.  I know she did.  And I'm **so** sorry she missed this gift.  You, I mean," she tells him earnestly, and he takes her hand from his face in his  own, and presses a gentle kiss to it, silencing her.

            "Please, Dawn.  I can't do this right now.  I will see you before I leave, I swear.  But I need…some alone time.  Can you guys just leave me here?  I'll meet you back at the house soon."

            Xander places his arm around Dawn's waist, and leads her toward the waiting limo.  

            "Come by the house later, Angel," Xander tells him, and it's not a request.  Angel nods at their backs.  "I promise."

            Dawn looks back at him once as they walk away, and he gives her a halfhearted wave.  

            She gives him a weak smile, and then they're gone.

            He remembers a time long ago, sitting at the base of a tree, in this very cemetary.  Or the rebuilt approximation of it, anyway.

            _Let me deal with the needyness.  I can handle it._

_            I'm…sorry._

_            No, Angel.  I'm so grateful you came.  I wasn't sure how I was going to make it through the night._

His head leans against the base of the oak, and he remembers telling her she was strong enough to do what needed to be done.  She had people around her, friends that cared and would see to her well being. 

            _I need you here.  I can't do this alone.  _

            How's forever work for you?

            The voice seems to echo in his mind, and all his newfound human emotions and aches and pains rise up in him all at once, and all at once it's too much to bear.  He raises his fists to his head, and plants his fingers in his hair, tugging on it, trying to create some sensation other than the _overwhelming something _he's currently feeling.

            Why hadn't they stayed in touch?  She had told him once that it would be years in coming, if ever.  

            Guess it never came.

            He gets up, and shambles to the gravesite, sinking to his knees in the freshly turned dirt.

            "Why didn't you tell me?" he whispers to the headstone.  "Why didn't you call?"  

            He runs a hand lightly over the raised letters of her name.

            "How did we lose our way?"

TBC.


	3. three

            He remembers all the times they were there for each other.  And just as suddenly when they weren't.  How he had broken both their hearts in a sewer, and how she had selflessly given of herself to save his life.  How he had met her eyes one last time, and how he still had managed the courage to walk away.

            And then there was the time she never remembered.  The one day they had had together in the sun.  On the beach, walking, laughing, loving, and eating a lot of ice cream.  He smiles slightly at the memory, and of Cordelia's "it'll go straight to your thighs!" comment.

            And of all the time after, when the phone calls had become less and less frequent.  He wonders how they both managed to live their own lives and still never _once _saw each other.  

            She had been so strong.  And had finally gotten what she wanted.  To not be alone anymore.  To not be the 'one girl in all the world.'  

            Why hadn't they seen more of each other?  

            Oh, yeah.  That old albatross.  The curse.

            He knew that even when she had finished 'baking' as she put it, the curse would have been still very much a problem.  In all his years, she was the one thing he couldn't deny.  Ever.

            And for some reason or another, the idea of finding a way to bind his soul had never come up again.  He had kind of forgotten about it, to be honest, after the portal had opened up in L.A.  Kinda busy saving the world.

            And he and his friends had actually done it.  He was now living proof of that fact.

            Living.  Proof.  _Poof! _

            The word came to him unbidden in the voice of a long dead compatriot.  Ally, maybe, friend, no.  That was another mystery he figured he'd never get the answer to.  

            _She loves you, you big dolt.  Go find her._

            Angel shakes his head, all feeling in his legs gone from having kneeled so long in the dirt.  Spike's voice echoes around him, and he's confused because he doesn't remember Spike ever saying anything like that. 

            And now it's too late to, anyway.

            The big C.  Takes out a slayer.  Turns out it's not so discriminating as one would have hoped.  Take no prisoners, that kind of thing.  Even magicians are helpless in the face of it's power.  He hadn't believed it at first when Xander had told him what had happened to her.  

            And she never told him.  Not even in the conversation they had had only a few short months ago, about Dawn's wedding and the rebuilding of the town.  She had mentioned that she and the ones that were left were going to move back home, and try to retire, get in some good 'grey hair' activity and such, as she so flippantly had said.  He had promised to visit, then had gotten swept up in the deaths of Wesley and Fred, and the final magics that had saved L.A. again from the ultimate evil.

            Now his closest friends lay in the ground, and there was no one left to share this most important of events with.  No one he cared to share it with right now, anyway.

            He stands finally, too wiped out to keep looking at the words on the stone.

            Buffy Anne Summers.  1980-2028

            Beloved Sister and Friend

            Forever in our Hearts

            Walking along the clean streets of the new Sunnydale, the image of that stone won't leave him.  He can't shake it.  

            He's been through a lot in his 250 plus years.  Been through viscious emotional cycles, countless heartbreak, loss, and unbelieveable joy.  But he can't seem to move past this one.  He stops abruptly, and looks about.  Realizing he has walked all the way to the train station.  Plops down on a bench, pulls his tie askew, suddenly feeling a tightness in his lungs he's still not used to yet.

            Watches the smooth bullet shaped trains enter and exit the station.  Takes note of the weirdly nostalgic old school look of the town.  But so old school that it's vaguely creepy to him.  

            A line he had read somewhere a long time ago creeps into his consciousness, and it makes the hair on the back of his neck rise.

            _The world has moved on._

            He feels like a leftover piece of food on a party tray, overlooked and completely forgotten.  There's nothing for him here now, and he sits there, in his black suit and leather coat, same hair, same dour expression.  Nothing's changed.  But everything has.  And he begins to grasp that all the promise of this gift, all the reasoning behind him wanting it so badly, _doesn't matter.  _

            His connections to humanity are gone.  Dead and buried.  All of them.  And he doesn't know how to fit in any more than he had when his soul had first been returned to him over a hundred years ago. 

            A harsh sob excapes his lips, and the couple passing him by give him a weird look before speeding up to pass him.

            He jerks to his feet, and heads blindly in the direction of her house.  Can't leave without seeing Dawn one last time.  He had promised her, after all.

            And there's something he needs to do as well, before escaping from this living hell he's found himself in.

            He knocks on the door softly, and is mortified by the look on Dawn's face when she opens it half a second after he lowers his hand.

            "Oh, thank God," she says, and he winces at the sight of the fresh tears on her cheeks.  Had she been crying for him?  

            He enters the home, freely now and with no invitation.  Although he hesitates briefly at the entry way, as if waiting for it.

            Dawn looks at him, and takes him by the hand.  "Please, come in," she says softly, "I need you here."

TBC. 


	4. four

A/n:  same disclaimer as before.  

This little piece is taking me in a direction I hadn't originally imagened it to.  I'm just letting Angel tell me where to go with it.  Please come along for the ride. 

                They proceed to the couch.  Angel can hear Xander in the kitchen, cleaning up the remains of the food left over from the wake.   He tunes it out, focusing wholly on Dawn.  Her face that's so like her sisters'.

                Was like her sisters'.

                "Angel," she starts, and looks at her hands in her lap, twisting her wedding ring around on her finger.  "I know we haven't been the best of friends, or stayed in touch like we should have, but I just want you to know…about her.  What you didn't hear.  What she never would have told you," she finishes in a rush,  as he shakes his head, trying to shush her.

                "Dawn, it really doesn't matter now, does it?  She's gone.  We didn't stay in touch the way we could have over the years because both she and I knew what the consequences would have been had we actually been in touch.  I never changed the way I felt about her-"

                "That's just it!" she interrupts.  "She always loved you.  Til the last day.  Every day.  The times she spoke to you on the phone, her face was lit up for days afterward.  You don't know how much you still mean to her…meant to her.  It was like she was her old self again.  Especially these last few months.  She started to get real nolstalgic.  Rambling on about the old days, talking about Giles, and Willow, and school.  And everything always came back to you."  She chances a look at him.

                Tears streak down his reddening face, and he begins to sob silently, his whole body frozen with the overwhelming sense of loss that he can't begin to fathom.

                He hasn't cried this much in over ten years.  And it takes one sentence from her baby sister to reduce him to a quivering wreck.  He can't stop, even when Xander comes out of the kitchen to investigate the weird noises he's hearing from the living room.

                Dawn is rooted to the spot on the couch, unsure of what to do.  She places her hands awkwardly over his, and he grasps them so tightly she almost cries out.  Almost.

                "What have I done?" he whispers.  

                "What do you mean?" Xander replys gently, his dishtowel thrown over his shoulder like a miniature cape.

                As they descend upon him, intent now to comfort him in some way, he leaps up, unable to bear their proximity any more.  

                "I've gotta…I need…I'm sorry," he spits out, and heads up the stairs at a dead run, his path instinctively toward the one place he feels any kind of calm eminating from.

                Of course it's not really her room; only a replica.  They did save some of her things, a few pictures and some jewelry dot the walls and top of the dresser.  He sits slowly on the edge of her bed and glances around, heart trip hammering a mile a minute.

                A few deep breaths, and his overtaxed lungs begin to slow down.  He scrubs a hand over his face, fully embarrassed at the tear tracks he finds there.  

                Tears, always tears.  Heartbreak, longing, sadness, seperateness.  If any words could describe his and Buffy's relationship, these were them.

                There were moments of peace and utter joy as well.  

                "God!" he yells suddenly, and hopes that Dawn and Xander don't come running at his outburst.

                God.  What has God, or the Powers, or whomever, done for him lately?

                Betrayal.  Vague promises.  And him always working so hard for his atonement, his 'shanshu'.  

                Well, he got it.  But he doesn't want it.  Not when he's the only one.  And not when she's cold in the ground.

                He wanders to her dresser, randomly opening drawers.  He doesn't care who sees him.  

                A few drawers from the bottom he finds a stack of envelopes and folded pieces of paper.  Turning the one on top over, his heart leaps to his throat at the one word written on it.

                _Angel_

In her loopy, girlish script.  _Still so young, _he thinks.  _Still that same girl.  _

                So he opens it, and sits down unconsciously on the window seat,  his old entry way into her life.

                As he takes the single sheet of paper out of the envelope, something clinks to the ground in front of him.  Frowning, he bends over and picks it up.

                A chill creeps up his spine, and he feels his face heat up again.  His left hand holds the ring that had fallen to the floor, while his right one clutches at it's mate that he wears on the chain around his neck.

                Fighting back the rush of fresh wetness in his eyes, he opens the letter and begins to read.

                _Angel,_

_Well, if you're getting this, I must be dead.  Ha!  You know that old joke in movies, where the hero gets the tape, and the message is invariably "darling, if you're hearing this I'm already dead."  Sorry.  I guess I'm just a little morbid right now.  And I'm really hoping that you won't ever have to read this.  I wanted to write it, though, just in case._

_How did we get so lost?  _

_How did I never find my way back to you?_

_Why didn't you come and find me?_

_There are so many questions and non sensical words floating around in my head right now.  and the most important ones are just not ever gonna be answered, I think.  We know what happened.  _

_Real life took over us, took over our destiny.  Maybe we were meant to be together just that once, and maybe it was a lesson for me and fate for you to go to hell.  Maybe the Powers needed you in a place so they could bring you back, to prove how much the world needed you.  _

_But damnit, I needed you too.  I need you now._

_I'm looking out my window as I write this, watching the sun set, and thinking about all the times I used to stare out that window, and wish you were there.  And suddenly, there you'd be, like an answered prayer.  Even if you didn't say anything, I felt like I could make one more day because I had you in my life.  I had your love to make me strong.  And it did, God did it ever._

_You'll never know how grateful I am that I got to know you.  That you chose me.  That when I became normal girl Buffy you still loved me, still thought I was worth keeping in contact with.  And even though we fought separate battles; even though you and your team worked so hard ever single second to keep L. A. and the rest of the world safe, you still had time to call me, to check up on me.  _

_My whole life was worth it if it means that I brought you one minute of happiness.  And if you had any moment of time where you forgot, just for a minute, all the crappiness and pain that you carry around with you, then it was worth it.  _

_I hope you know that.  I want you to understand that.  We were fated to meet.  Fated to love, and maybe fated to be forever apart.  But Angel, you have to know that I never wanted it to end up that way.  Why do you think I ended up alone?  There's no one else for me, there never was.  I know, I  understand it had to be that way.  There was no other way for us to be.  I could never control myself around you, not ever.  You affect me in ways I can't describe.  Even hearing your voice rumble down the line made me high for days.  Ask Dawn.  I'm sure she'll be more than happy to embarrass me!_

_In the end, it's kind of ironic that a simple disease can take away my power.  I never felt as invincible than I did when you were around.  All of you held me up.  Always._

_The first slayer was wrong, you know.  I am not alone.  I never will be.  You will always hold me up, even if I die tomorrow, or thirty years from now.  _

_So I want you to know finally that I understand, and I don't blame you at all for losing your way.  I only hope that you find it, wherever it is, and that you think of me from time to time with fond memories._

_Sheesh, what a downer.  _

_Sorry.  So now I close, and again hope that you don't have to read this, hope that I can tell you in person, someday when we're really old and gray, and you have that beautiful crooked smile on your face, and we're together finally as we should have been all along._

_I was always strong, always capable.  But you made my freaky existance bearable.  More than bearable.  _

_You made it a joy. _

_I love you._

_B._

                Angel sits motionless on the window seat, clutching the letter and the ring she had left, his only movement a slight tremor in his hands, as he watches the sun set for the first time from her room.

TBC.  


	5. five

A/n:    at end. 

                The sun has gone down again.  A soft knock on her door; he starts suddenly, realizing what time it is.  "Yes?" he says.

                "Angel?  Want some dinner?" Dawn's voice comes through the door, slightly muffled.

                He creaks to his feet, spine popping from having sat still for so long.  "Sure, Dawnie.  I'll be there shortly."

                As her footsteps recede, he looks around him again for the last time, still loosely holding the ring and letter in his hands.  As he passes the mirror over her vanity, he catches a glance of himself.  White face, eyes bloodshot.  He passes a hand over his face, trying to scrub the life back into it.  _The walking dead_ pops into his mind, and he chuckles humorlessly to himself.  Opening her door, he begins the trek downstairs, to Dawn and Xander, and to too many questions and looks he just doesn't think he can face.

                They sit in silence, Angel pushing his food around on his plate, trying to feign interest.

                "Just stop," Dawn says finally.

                "Stop what?" he answers her, confused.

                "Stop trying to eat.  That scraping noise is driving me crazy," she tells him, placing her fingers on the hand holding his fork.  "You don't have to pretend for us."

                Angel sets his fork down, sighing.  "I'm sorry, Dawn.  Xander?  Can I see you outside?"  He stands, the chair legs scraping the floor.

                "Uh…sure.  I'll be right there."

                Angel props his foot up on the edge of the porch, calmly waiting for Xander to appear.  A few minutes later, the screen door creaks open, and he appears.

                "What's up, man?  You feeling okay?  You were upstairs for quite a while."

                Angel speaks, but doesn't meet Xander's gaze.

                "I found a letter."

                Xander squints at him, eyes widening again as he understands.  The moon glints on Angel's hand, and Xander notices the pair of silver rings he holds.

                "Was it…did it tell you what you wanted to know?"

                "Yes.  And no," he says, feeling foolishly like the Cryptic Guy Buffy used to accuse him of being.  He has no intention however of explaining his feelings to Xander Harris, of all people.  Even if he is almost 50.  

                "I know I told you I would explain everything.  And I owe it at least to Dawn, if not to you.  But I just can't.  Not now, not after…this."  He waves the letter in his hand around, voice cracking.  "I don't belong here, Xander.  I don't fit into this new world.  And no matter how hard I try to force myself into it, the reason, my reason for wanting humanity in the first place, is cold in the ground.  And there's no coming back this time.  Do you see?"

                Xander nods slowly, trying to understand.  "I guess.  But Angel, death aside, Buffy would want you to live your life, with or without her.  The little connection she still had with you was the one thing she had left that still made her happy.  Losing Willow, losing contact with Giles; after all that I didn't think she would make it.  But she still had me and Dawn.  And she still had you.  I know you think she chose to lose touch with you on purpose.  And maybe she did.  She was always proud.  Too proud to beg you to see her.  Too proud to tell you when she was sick.  Too proud to ask for you when she needed you most…"  

                He cuts himself off, not able to talk without tears dripping down his face.

                "I never understood it.  Her obsession with you.  She always held you first, you know?  Always.  You were always first in her heart-"

                "It wasn't an obsession, Xander!  It was…it was what it was.  And now there's no chance at all.  And I won't disgrace her memory or feelings for me by walking around like a dead thing in this world."

                Apruptly he whirls toward Xander, leather coat flying, reminding the other man once again of a large, dangerous animal.  A beautiful but deadly one.

                "So take this.  Give it to Dawn.  Bury it with her.  I don't care.  I just…I can't do this anymore."

                He shoves the rings and letter into Xander's hands, and bolts down the stairs, toward the night and awaiting oblivion.

                Xander can only stare after him, shock gripping his tounge, no words appropriate enough to say reaching him.

                The wind whips his hair; the sting of salt in his mouth as he crouches on the sand, not caring about the dirt and water grinding itself into his pants.

                He knows what he had to do now.  The only thing he can do.  Maybe, God, just maybe, he'll see her again soon. 

                And that one maybe is enough to convince him.

                The beach had always been one of her favorite places.  Only fitting for him to be here to do what needs to be done.

                The knife he took from Buffy's kitchen gleams in the moonlight next to him.

                Blood shouldn't bother him.  Not after all that he's seen.  And done.

                Humanity without his reason for humanity is a joke.  All his reasons gone.  Each and every one of them.  He pictures their faces in his mind.  Fred.  Wesley.  Gunn.  Oh God, Connor.  Darla.  Kate.  Cordy.  Doyle.  And lastly, her.  Her blond hair shining, her smile glowing in the dark just for him.  He would brave a million stinky sewers and hordes of death dealing demons to see that smile one more time.  

                He would give up his life to see it.

                A small rational part of his mind screams out to him, in abbhorance of what he's about to do.  _What about the shanshu?  You got it!  Don't waste it!  There will be others!  Fight the good fight!_

Doyle's voice always seems to come to him in the worst possible moments. 

                "I've lived so long.  What's one less human cluttering up the world?" he whispers to the wind, and waits for an answer.

                Nothing comes.

                He realizes he is a coward for doing this.  But after all those years alone, after finding Buffy and accepting he could be someone, could become someone again, he knows he can't learn to do it himself alone.  Can't face the monsters and the darkness, and the plain stink of humanity again.  Not again.  He can't now.  He doesn't know how.  And God forgive him, he doesn't have the strength to learn.

                If simple cancer can take the life of a slayer, if the Powers can dictate that one such as her gets such a short span, surely they won't care a whit about one ex-vampire with a soul who suddenly can't stomach his mortality.

                He picks up the knife, waving it slowly before him, the steel shining brightly in the fading darkness.  

                The sun's coming again.  And he doesn't want to see its face.

                His head lolls back into the sand, the grains making a soft cushion for his suddenly heavy skull.  He can't see too well anymore, and laughs briefly at the thought of his once cat like eyesight reduced to blurry spots and tracers of light.

                He brings his wrists up to his face, and the soft _plunk _of blood on his cheeks rouses him some, and he clumsily tries to wipe it off, only succeeding in smearing it all over himself.

                Sensations pass through his dying body, and he marvels at each one.  

                It was worth it.  He'll see her again.  He'll see them all again.   He knows it.

                Briefly he's sorry for Xander and especially Dawn, having to go through this funeral business a second time in such a short few days.  Then that thought dashes its way out of his head, as he begins to see flashes of bright light at the edge of his vision.

                A soft voice speaks in his ear.  He can't quite make it out, and reaches out with his crimson stained hands to pull it closer.

"Angel.  Come home."

"Buffy?" he croaks, and suddenly, _oh my god! _She's there.  

He knew he would see her again.

                Dawn comes brilliantly over the horizon, illuminating everything in its path.  The sun shines down like a beacon, and finds on a small beach it's long lost child, and although it weeps for the loss, knows that it's for the best.

                For the child has found it's humanity at last. 

_____________________________________________________________

A/N:  Okay, I did not expect this to go where it went.  I'm very into the tragic aspect of humanity, esp. how Angel would deal with his if all he wanted in life was gone by the time he got his shanshu.  Sorry to everyone who expected a happy ending.  I will be writing more soon.  This story just had to be told.  And I really enjoyed writing it.  I hope you enjoyed reading.  So push that little button and tell me.   J


End file.
